Flesh and Bone
by lil7miss7sarcastic
Summary: The world has fallen to zombies. Governments have collapsed, but human factions remain, eking out an uncertain existence in the ravaged country. Natasha Romanoff, part of one such group called Shield, has survived for so long because of her unique skill set and the rule: Never get attached. That is, until she meets James.
1. Chapter 1

**Written for Buckynat Mini Bang 2018. T** **his monster of a fic absolutely destroyed me. I think this is the longest thing I've written in such a small period of time. I was playing Walking Dead the Tell Tale series one day and started imagining Buckynat in a Zombie Apocalypse, and the rest is history.**

 **Many many thanks to nocek for their brilliant artwork that breathed such detailed life into Buckynat. They look so badass!**

* * *

The creature thrashed in its restraints and let out a menacing snarl. Natasha stared back, unimpressed.

"You know, they seem quite stupid, once you see them up close," she remarked.

Banner, who was trying to extract a tissue sample without coming too close to its teeth, flashed her a mildly disapproving look. "They're not stupid. They have all the instincts of a starving animal, which makes them simple-minded, yes. But extremely dangerous."

Natasha shifted the grip on her gun and resumed watch, silent. Her flippant brand of humour clearly did not work on Banner, who flinched again as the zombie snapped its mouth at him. She sighed and shrugged off her jacket. Approaching the zombie tied to the tree, she rolled and stretched the cloth between her two hands. Swiftly covered the zombie's mouth, she tied the ends together round the trunk. The zombie banged its head against the bark, enraged, but the makeshift gag stayed put.

"Thanks." Banner smiled sheepishly, scraping off the skin from its tightly bound arms. Fury had tasked them with collecting samples for study—"If we have to beat the enemy, we need to know the enemy," he'd said—but seeing that dead ones decomposed at a rate too rapid to be of any use, capturing a live zombie was their actual task. Natasha was glad they were done. Spending the last few days actively baiting a zombie and keeping it alive had gone against every screaming instinct in her body.

"All done," Banner announced happily, packing up the last of the samples. "He's yours, Natasha."

She smiled. Brandishing the eight-inch knife that had once belonged to Clint Barton, she sauntered up to the zombie, a small part of her relishing the build-up. The screeches intensified as she drew closer. She took hold of the decomposing hair on its head and slashed at its neck. She had to saw back and forth a couple of times but the blade finally cut through. Dark, rotting blood spurted from the gash. The gag came off as the head rolled off its body and onto the grass with a squelch. The noises had stopped, but its mouth kept opening and shutting like a grotesque goldfish. She stuck the knife into both of its eyes for good measure. Experience had taught them that zombies could only be killed by decapitation or a bullet in the brain, but you could never be too sure.

Natasha straightened up to see Banner trying and failing to disguise the queasiness on his face. "There must be a cleaner way to do that," he said, referring to the blood and guts that had splattered her arms and face during the hacking job.

"There is, but bullets are precious. I'd rather not use one unless I absolutely have to." She untied the ropes that held the headless corpse and stowed it in her bag—why waste good equipment? Unrolling her fallen jacket, she grimaced. It was beyond foul. All the same, she put it back on and tried to ignore the stench.

Natasha swept the clearing with her eyes. Satisfied that they hadn't left anything behind, they began the long trek back to Shield. The woods they were in were sparse but she kept her eyes peeled anyway. _Constant vigilance._

Soon, they came to the river crossing. What was once a lazy stream was now a foaming, rushing cascade of treacherous water. "Great."

"It's been raining pretty heavily lately," Banner remarked, raising his voice above the crash of water. "We can't cross it. We'll be swept away."

"There's a narrow bend in the river further up. It'll take us longer but it should be easier to cross."

Banner gestured for her to take the lead. Dead leaves crunched underfoot as they cautiously made their way through unfamiliar territory. The trees grew taller here, blocking the sunlight. The sudden chill in the air made her shiver through her ruined jacket. There was something very, very wrong about this place.

"Natasha-" started Banner.

"Shh. Do you hear that?"

It sounded like something was slithering through the grass. _Drag and pause_. _Drag and pause_. A low moan. Something much bigger than a snake, then.

Behind her, she could feel Banner tensing. She directed him behind a tree, and took similar cover on the opposite side. Crouching, she aimed her gun at whatever was shuffling towards them through the woods.

It was a zombie, just as she'd expected. Or more precisely, it was half a zombie. Its lower half was missing, and it was dragging itself using its arms. A trail of dark blood followed wherever its torso scraped the hard ground. Natasha had heard of zombies surviving what would otherwise have been fatal injuries in humans, but this was the first time she'd laid eyes on such a sight. Its eyes gleamed bright with hunger, and it hastened its movements when it sensed them stepping closer to examine it.

"Looks like an axe wound," said Banner.

"Which means there are people around. It wouldn't have dragged itself too far."

"I wouldn't underestimate their determination. It would be almost admirable if-"

"If they weren't out to eat us, yes." She waited, lazily flipping the knife in her hand, for the zombie to make its torturous way towards them. It was an eerie scene; what was once a living, breathing human, was now half a rotting corpse, wiggling like a worm to get at their brains. She almost felt sorry for it. And perhaps this was the universe's way of punishing her for showing empathy, for before she could stick her trusty blade into its head, it caught hold of her left foot.

"Motherfucker," she swore, as it tugged on her shoe to make her trip. She stabbed at its hand and freed herself, only for its other hand to latch onto her right calf. Natasha could feel its dead fingers digging into her skin through the denim. She grunted and shook her leg violently, and it scrabbled for purchase.

"Natasha! Don't move." And a rock the size of a football crashed into the zombie's head. The zombie slid off of her and lay still. Banner picked up the rock again and brought it down with force, caving its skull. The zombie let out a weak snarl. Banner yelled in reply and the zombie got another helping of stone. Again and again, until its head was nothing more than a smashed pumpkin and the mild-mannered biologist was painted with blood and grey matter.

Natasha nodded her thanks, then grinned, pointing at his clothes. "We're twins now."

Banner smiled wryly and wiped his glasses on a clean corner of his shirt. He pointed to where the zombie torso had appeared from. "This way."

She hung back. "Why?"

"Don't you want to meet whoever did such a half-assed job on this one?"

She pursed her lips. Unlike in the weeks following the outbreak, it was rare to come across humans these days. The only people left now were hardened survivors, and they stuck to themselves. For Banner, and many others back at Shield, the prospect of meeting new people, of adding them to the group, and thus increasing their chances of survival, was an appealing one. For Natasha, however, the more was not the merrier. Zombies were easy; humans were difficult to read. She'd seen what they were capable of, both in her past life, and now, especially in this every-man-for-themselves life. And well, she would take a zombie any day.

"We need to get back, Bruce. Fury's waiting."

"They let this guy go. What if they need our help?"

And there it was. The fucking humanitarian appeal. "We don't know what we're walking into. Could be a trap."

"Jesus, Nat. Not everyone is out to get us!"

"You would be surprised. I ran into this nasty bunch once; they would pretend to need assistance and rob the bleeding hearts of all their food and supplies. And you know that in this world, that's practically the same as leaving them dead."

"Yeah, well I trust your instincts. We'll scope the scene, if you think something's fishy, we leave ASAP. Works?"

Natasha considered. "And when I say we get out-"

"We get the fuck out. Understood."

.

.

The camp had been overrun by a horde. One of the two tents had collapsed, and the other was ridden with deep slashes. Bodies lay about the camp in different directions; from far away they looked asleep if not for the rotting flesh. Natasha counted ten zombies in all. They must have surrounded the tents from all sides, closing in, cutting off all escape. Until someone had taken them out.

"See, something terrible did happen." Banner kicked a half-opened can of soup aside. Pointing at the smouldering campfire, he said, "Happened not long ago, too. Where did they go?"

"Wherever they went, they made sure to finish off all the zombies."

She knelt to examine a zombie closely. It had died of a clean headshot. She checked the bodies around her; same. "Maybe they didn't need our help after all," remarked Banner. Natasha agreed. This was the work of an expert marksman. And judging from the angle of the shot, it came from above… She snapped her head upwards, rapidly scanning the canopy for the shooter. Either they were long gone or too well-hidden—

Banner's scream jolted her. He'd been investigating the tent that was still standing when a zombie—they had previously presumed dead—moved with surprising swiftness behind him. It clawed for his legs and snapped its teeth. Banner caught hold of the tent instinctively, but the canvas ripped and he fell face-first onto the ground. The zombie snarled in triumph.

Natasha vaulted over the hearth. Another zombie, perhaps energized due to the smell of their adrenaline-spiked pulse, stirred. She stomped her boot into his face with a crunch. Another moaned from its prostrate position—she kicked it so hard it twisted its neck.

Banner jerked violently. The zombie was now trying to gnaw through his pants. His hand was trapped beneath him, unable to reach the gun strapped to his belt. "NAT!"

She whipped out her own weapon and paused. "Hold still, Bruce!" He was struggling too much. She couldn't get a clear aim.

"Just take the damn shot, Natasha!"

 _Crack_.

The zombie screeched. She looked down at her hand. She hadn't fired. Which meant it was the mysterious shooter. Another crack. The zombie slumped; his teeth had managed to make a sizeable hole in Banner's pants. He pushed the zombie off him with disgust.

"Nat."

Her eyes were trained at the source of the two shots. No movement.

"Nat! Did- did it get me?" There was urgency in Banner's voice. "Can you check?"

Natasha tore herself away and ran to him. Kneeling at his side, she ripped off the cloth and inspected his leg. Her heart leapt into her mouth at the blood. _No_. She frantically wiped it off to see that, to her intense relief, the skin was unbroken. _Thank god_.

"There's nothing. You'll be fine."

Banner let out a deep sigh.

A _thud_ sounded behind them. Natasha turned to see a man had dropped down from a tree, clutching a long-range rifle. Her own gun was trained on him in a matter of moments. "Stay back," she warned.

"He saved my life, Nat," admonished Banner.

"I had it," she muttered.

"But I was quicker," replied the man, grinning. His brown hair grew past his ears, and he had an easy-going manner that instantly put her on the edge. "We mean no harm." Dropping his gun on the ground, he spread his palms facing towards them. Natasha lowered her gun, but did not loosen her posture. Banner stepped forward. "I'm Dr. Banner."

The man quirked a brow. "Doctor, huh? I'm just plain Bucky." He pointed a finger upwards. "And that's plain Steve."

"What-" Another heavy _thud_ , as a blonde man landed beside Bucky. He straightened up, wincing a little and greeted them, "Hi." Natasha was furious at herself for not noticing that there had been a second one. "Sorry for the suspense, but we weren't sure all of them were dead," said Steve.

"Or that you two weren't thieves come to ransack our camp," put in Bucky bluntly.

"That's fair," replied Banner. "That was you with the headshots? Impressive."

He shrugged modestly. "Army training."

Natasha had already pegged them as military men. If Bucky's sharpshooting skills or their muscular builds hadn't been enough, the dog tags glinting around their necks tipped her off. Men like them would be valuable additions to Shield, Fury would have said.

"I've never seen such a large bunch," continued Bucky. "We would've been overwhelmed if we hadn't heard them coming a mile away. Subtle, these guys are not."

"Yeah, except for that one who managed to sneak ahead. I lost my axe chopping him down. Broke the handle," added Steve ruefully.

"We had the pleasure of meeting it," said Natasha.

"So are you guys on your own?" asked Bucky, looking between her and Banner.

"Uh," Banner hesitated, and glanced at her. Her instinct to stay away from strange men in the forest warred with her rationale that however strange they may be, they had skills that could come in use. Natasha tilted her head. "We're actually from Shield."

"That big human settlement? I didn't know we were so close to it," replied Steve.

"Okay so the thing is. We're running low on medical supplies, but we have enough ammunition." Bucky reached up into the branches, where a camouflaged pack was strung out of sight. He opened it to show them an impressive stockpile of bullets and a couple of handguns. "What do you say, would you be people be open to a trade?"

She let out a low whistle. "I think we'd be _more_ than open."

"Thought so." Bucky smirked, holding her gaze.

Banner cleared his throat. "Yeah, so if you'd just follow us…"

Steve and Bucky gathered the remains of their belongings with quiet efficiency. The tents were damaged beyond saving, but they'd had the forethought to stash their essential supplies in the trees surrounding the camp. Once Bucky had retrieved the last of their belongings, they set off on the path that would take them to Shield.

Banner and Steve took the lead, with Bucky and Natasha right behind, weapons in hand at all times. She was pleased to note that Bucky had good trigger discipline. He noticed her staring and shifted closer.

"You still haven't told us your name."

"Natasha."

"And I'm Bucky, as you already know. But you can call me James," he said, smiling crookedly. This man was good-looking, and he knew it. Natasha mentally rolled her eyes.

The mercury climbed steadily as they walked on. It hadn't rained at all that day, and soon Natasha was covered in a thin layer of sweat. She gathered her shoulder-length red hair into a ponytail and fanned the back of her neck. Ahead of her, Steve, muttering about the humidity, shrugged off his jacket.

Natasha stopped short.

The shirt on his lower right arm was shredded. A bandage peeked through it, seeped with red. Steve stumbled and automatically clutched his arm, grimacing. And she immediately knew what the wound looked like: as if something had taken a bite out of him.

"He's bitten."

"What?"

She covered the distance between them in three sharp strides. Her gun was thrust under his chin. "You're bitten," she told Steve.

"What the fuck?!" yelled Bucky. He shoved her back, and she slapped his hand aside. Steve, startled, fell against a tree trunk. "It's a dog bite!"

"Yeah, I'm not falling for that again. Bruce, look! Don't tell me that doesn't look like a zombie bite."

Banner who'd been hanging back, warily examined the wound. He scratched his head. "It does look like a bite, but to be sure I'll have to remove the bandages."

"Like hell you are!" sneers Bucky. "We'd just gotten the bleeding under control. I'm not letting you expose it again just for your satisfaction."

Natasha whipped around. "I'm sorry if we don't take your word for it. Do you really expect us to walk in with an infected into our settlement?"

"He has a name!"

"Buck-" started Steve.

"And did _you_ really expect him to be walking around all laughing and talking if he'd actually been bitten?" continued Bucky.

"Infections take time to manifest," hissed Natasha. "Look I don't know what your agenda is, but I'm not risking the entire population of Shield."

"There is no risk! It was a goddamn German Shepard in an empty house we broke into. Poor bastard was half mad with hunger."

"Bucky," said Steve, coolly. "Let them see. I'll be fine."

Heart hammering, Natasha watched as Banner gingerly unwrapped the bandages. His head blocked the wound from her view. It was obvious that Bucky and Steve were close. There was a big possibility that the former was in denial about his friend's impending death. She'd seen this before. The grip on her gun tightened.

"It _is_ a dog bite," Banner announced, wiping his hands on his pants. "Look at the prominent canine marks. Plus, the flesh would have started turning yellow if it had been zombie inflicted." Natasha ducked her head, face suddenly warm. "Sorry," he told Steve, more from her behalf. "I had a false alarm back there in the camp, you must've seen that. We're all a bit rattled."

Steve, a little pale, nodded and wore his jacket, once again covering the bite. Bucky, who'd been standing with his arms crossed tightly, muttered irritably, "Great. Now that we've proved we're not liars, we'll be on our way." He picked up his bag, which had fallen down during the argument, and swung it onto his shoulders roughly.

They were leaving, she realised. "Wait." Furious eyes met hers. "He needs a rabies shot."

"The dog wasn't rabid," said Steve.

"It's still a good idea to get one," said Banner promptly. "And we could get it stitched up. We're not too far."

Bucky hesitated, torn between his anger and his concern for his friend's health. They shared a look layered with complicated back-and-forth. Finally, Bucky shrugged. He marched ahead, not-so-accidentally bumping Natasha's shoulder as he passed. Gone were the flirtatious grins and the charming demeanour.

Banner sent her a wry glance. Natasha sighed, and trudged on.

.

.

They'd gotten lucky with Shield's base. An abandoned boarding school at the outskirts of town—it had a solid boundary wall, first-aid stations, a generator that worked most times, large stores of food, comfortable dorms (thank god for rich spoiled boys) and even a moth-eaten library in case they ever wished to pick up a paperback. Half of the classrooms, the faculty wing, and the principal's office had burned down in a fire long ago, but they had enough to establish a home.

She'd left Bucky and Steve with Banner, trusting him to take them to Fury. She had other priorities; first, a shower. Stark had fitted the showerheads with a meter that cut off the water if you used too much. She quickly got into the cubicle with her filthy jacket on and rinsed off the worst of the blood. Hot water would have been better for the fabric but hot water hadn't been a thing for years. She almost didn't miss it. Almost.

Natasha emerged from the communal bathroom, wrapped in a towel, to find Maria Hill waiting for her. The dark-haired woman accompanied her to her room. Room she called it, when it was in fact no more than a janitor's closet. The dorms were more spacious but also crowded; Natasha would lie awake at times, body itching, hyperaware of the dozen or so women who slept in her proximity. She'd parlayed with Fury for a room of her own once she had more than enough earned her place at Shield. He'd cleared the closet for her without question. Natasha had knocked down the shelves and chucked a few pinecones in the corner to disguise the smell of bleach. A small window set high into the wall provided ventilation and light. A lumpy mattress, one or two cardboard boxes filled with her belongings, and a couple of wires bent into clothes hangers and— _home, sweet home_.

Hill nodded at the rectangle-shaped mirror propped on top of a box. "Where did you get that?"

"Stark's. It broke. I offered to take it off his hands." The jagged edge of the mirror glinted dangerously.

She snorted. "And he agreed? How is he going to spend his days now?"

"I suspect he has another one stashed away to stare at himself."

Natasha dressed as Hill filled her in on the status of Wanda and Pietro. Fury had sent them to scout the bandits' camp, and they'd failed to check in at the scheduled time. It was a mark of how serious the situation was that Hill's eyes didn't stray once towards Natasha, who was practically naked. Natasha was slightly miffed.

"Fury's considering sending a runner after the Maximoffs," continued Hill.

"But you don't agree."

She shrugged. "If we've lost them, we've lost them. No sense in leading someone else to the same fate." And here was the reason Natasha could never let her guard down completely with her. Fury's right hand woman was cold and dispassionate, and sure, Natasha had let her into her bed once or twice, but trusting her was out of the question.

"You could send me." Natasha liked the Maximoff twins. Eastern European immigrants (illegal, she would guess), they were hard-working, resourceful, and fiercely devoted to each other. Natasha was a lone wolf by choice at Shield, but she had to admit the value of a partnership like theirs. She used to have that with Clint, a long time ago.

"And you think you'll do a better job?"

"You know I will."

Hill scrutinised her carefully. "Fine. If we don't get word by the end of the day…"

After she finished clipping her walkie to her belt, Natasha told her she was heading to the dining hall and it was then Hill revealed the real reason she'd sought her.

"Your boys agreed to stay."

"That was fast."

"Fury would have been a fool to let them go—shiny, military boys like them. Where did you even find them?"

"They fell from the heavens."

"What do you think of them?" asked Hill, crossing her arms.

"They're extremely loyal to each other. Handy with a gun, especially the dark-haired one." A pause. "But he's hot-tempered, and following the rules could be a problem. Steve's the calm, quiet one. He's used to being underestimated, but has leadership skills worthy of consideration."

Maria Hill smirked. "Were you a shrink in your past life or something?"

Natasha made a face. "God, no." Only Fury knew of who she'd actually been before the outbreak, and she intended to keep it that way.

.

.

The only time Natasha had ever faced disciplinary action at Shield was when a cocky new recruit had complained about the quantity of food and called Pepper Potts "that old lunch lady cunt". Natasha had punched Rumlow so hard he'd broken his nose. He'd died not too long after in a skirmish with the bandits and she could honestly say she didn't feel even a bit sorry.

Pepper had the unenviable job of daily administration. Shield had a comfortable store of essentials, but given that the future was uncertain, Fury had mandated indefinite wartime rations for everyone. Natasha admired Pepper for the patient and adept way she handled complaints and petty squabbles (especially Stark's), as well as the creativity with which she budgeted and planned the weekly menu such that they seldom felt the constraints. She'd been an executive assistant at a multinational in her old life and she'd confessed that her corporate experience had actually been more stressful than this. Natasha was sure that Shield would fall apart without Pepper.

Pepper handed her a tray of bread slathered with a thin layer of jam and a glass of lemonade. "Welcome back," she winked, pointing to the coarse bread. Underneath it, sat a piece of chocolate wrapped in foil. Natasha smiled, pocketing it for later.

The mess was a sunlit, airy hall with large tables and benches arranged along its length. Lunch was over, there was nobody around except for the two men who were the last people she wanted to see. Natasha took a fortifying breath and dropped down next to them. "Hey, boys."

Bucky stiffened, saying nothing. Steve gave her a tentative smile. "Natasha, right? Have to get your name right since we're going to be staying here for a while."

She nodded. "I heard. How's your arm?"

Steve looked down at the freshly bandaged wound. "All good. Got the shots as well."

"I might have…overreacted," she said awkwardly.

"You had to make sure," said Steve, ignoring Bucky's scoff. "You were looking out for Shield. And now that I've seen what you guys have built," Steve's eyes gleamed. "I get it. For instance, this lemonade. Delicious. It's the small things that make you remember you're human."

Natasha almost smiled. "We grow lemons in the greenhouse Stark built. Sugar is limited, so Pepper uses honey instead."

"Stark?"

"Our engineer, general tinkerer and all-round pain in the ass. And talk of the devil." Curiosity about the new blood had dragged Stark from his lab. Banner was hurrying in his wake, probably to act as a buffer.

"Someone summoned me? Tony Stark, resident genius." He shook hands with the two men. "Holy hell, you guys look like you've walked right off the Calvin Klein catalogue. Damn, guess I'll have to give up my title of the handsomest man in Shield."

"You never were," Banner pointed out.

"Who then? If you say Coulson…"

"Thor," put in Natasha. The Norwegian wasn't exactly her type but he was certainly stunning.

Stark pouted. "Well, okay. Although Rogers here could totally give him a run for the money."

"Um," said Steve.

"And as for your friend, a shave and a good-night's sleep…hope springs eternal." Stark made as if to thump Bucky's back but reconsidered at the glare on his face.

"Stark. Behave."

He pointed a finger at Natasha. "Hey, I'm just welcoming them to Shield. Letting them know what the work culture is like, etc."

"Yeah, about that," spoke Bucky, for the first time. "You guys have a lotta rules, almost like a goddamn bureaucracy."

"Rules are the reason we've survived so long," replied Natasha carefully. "All members must follow them."

He noticed the implied threat in her voice. "I know, Fury gave us the spiel. What happens to the dissenters?"

There had been a mutiny in Shield's early years, before Natasha's time, led by a man named Alexander Pierce. It had ended with a terrible fire and the execution of all those who had rebelled.

"Everyone is heard out fairly," said Banner.

Bucky opened his mouth to object. At once, three walkie-talkies came to life in a burst of static. Natasha quickly brought hers to her ear; Stark and Banner did the same. Coulson's voice filtered through, calm but urgent. She listened with a mounting sense of horror.

"What happened?" asked Steve.

"The Maximoffs are back," said Banner in a hollow voice. "Our youngest members."

"And?"

"And Pietro is bitten."

.

.

This time it was no dog bite. Natasha and Stark paced outside what was formerly the nurse's office, now Banner's clinic. Steve and Bucky, who had followed them, hung around, wary. Finally, the doctor emerged, shaking his head. "It's spreading."

A wail broke out from a figure huddled in the corner. Wanda. She raised her red-rimmed eyes. "There must be something you can do."

"You know there isn't, Wanda," he replied softly.

The effort of dragging her hurt brother back to Shield had exhausted her, yet she drew herself to her full height and pointed a raging finger. "NO! Stop saying that! You haven't tried everything, Banner. We can't just let him die!"

Natasha put a hand on her trembling shoulder. "And we can't let him turn." Wanda shrugged her off scornfully. "What do you know? You understand nothing. He's my brother…he's the only one I have in this world." And she broke down sobbing. Bucky appeared stricken, but he and Steve wisely remained silent.

Stark exchanged looks with Banner. "Bruce, is there any way we can stabilise his condition?"

"I have given him a sedative. But there's nothing to stop him from turning." Banner rubbed his face, anguished. "It may take some time, but it will happen. We all know that."

"Knowing is different from believing," muttered Natasha. Her heart broke for Wanda, but there was only one way out of this.

The sound of heavy footsteps announced the arrival of Nick Fury. The head of Shield cut a tall and imposing figure, all dressed in black. An eye-patch covering an old injury completed the look. He glanced at the unconscious Pietro through the clinic's doorway, then at his sister. His expression softened slightly.

Crouching down, he said, "Wanda, you know what we have to do."

She turned her face away.

"Wanda, when you joined Shield, you agreed to follow certain rules. And this is the most important rule of all. The entire safety of Shield rests on this."

"Fuck your rules."

Natasha stepped forward. Fury inclined his head and let her talk to Wanda instead. Drawing back, he nodded at Stark and Banner and began conversing with them in hushed whispers.

"Wanda," murmured Natasha. "Pietro would not have wanted this."

"Do not speak of him in the past sense," she hissed, although her voice had lost its edge.

"I know what you're going through. You're hoping for a miracle, praying that this time, _this time_ , is an exception. But it's in vain, because nature is relentless. Pietro will turn. He will transform into a walking corpse who has nothing in common with the brother who loved you." Natasha swallowed the lump in her throat. She leant in closer, these words just between the two of them. "It will be terrible for him. He will slowly lose his senses and everything that makes him _him_ , and the hunger will take over. He will not think twice before attacking you. Do you want that for your brother?"

Wanda remained quiet, but shook her head softly.

"He deserves a painless death. He deserves to be remembered as he was, and not as a monster."

The younger girl looked up at Natasha, eyes bright with tears. She'd made up her mind.

Natasha sighed and straightened up. Turning, she noticed Bucky staring at her intently; he seemed to have heard her. She flushed.

Wanda took Pietro's hand in hers from where he lay on the cot. His skin was sallow, eyes fluttering rapidly beneath his lids. The bite festered on his right shoulder. "I want to stay with him till the end," she announced. Fury consented.

Banner injected Pietro with a lethal dose of pavulon. It would be a peaceful death, and give Wanda closure. Later, Fury would ask Banner to remove his head using the mechanical bone saw before burying him—the doctor hated doing it, but he knew they couldn't take any chances.

Pietro regained consciousness for a bit. He clutched at his sister's hand tightly. "I don't want to go, Wanda. I don't want to go…"

"You know you have to," she whispered. Her voice was hoarse. There were no tears left. "It'll be okay, give my love to mама и папа."

"Я увижу тебя с другой стороны, сестра."

Pietro Maximoff died with a smile on his face.

Natasha backed away from the room. She would check in on Wanda later, but right now she needed to be anywhere else but here. She rounded the corner and felt someone grab her arm. She wrenched it away roughly.

"What," she barked when she saw that it was Bucky.

"I heard you back there, with Wanda." He had an unreadable expression on her face.

"And?"

"If Steve had actually been bitten…you really would have killed him, right then and there?"

Natasha looked into his eyes. They were the colour of old coins.

"Without hesitation."

.

.

Pietro's memorial was a sombre affair. Shield had gone without death for so long that it had come as a shock, a reminder that the world they were living in did not care for them. Everyone found their own way to grieve—Wanda showed up behind the mess counter, serving food with a quiet smile; Banner threw himself into studying the zombie samples; Stark spent late nights in his lab. Natasha detected hints of alcohol on his breath, but decided not to report him. Everyone needed a distraction. Especially in the light of the circumstances of his death.

Fury, who knew the most about Natasha, indicated that she could talk to him if she wanted to. Clearly he had picked up on the parallels, though it came as a surprise that he was offering to listen. Or maybe, he thought this was a good chance to get more intel on her. "I don't need to talk," she'd said. "Just send me out again."

She dreamed that night that she was hunting them down. She picked out a spot and shot them from above. She sneaked her way close and stabbed them in the back. Only, these weren't zombies. They were humans.

Natasha woke up to a knock. She wiped the sweat off her face and listened. The knocks came in a series of three. Hill. Natasha had been expecting her; this was _their_ way of coping. This time, however, she pretended to be asleep and let her go.

.

.

In his infuriating way, Fury kept his word, but with a caveat: she couldn't go alone. Natasha gnashed her teeth, weighing being cooped up inside the barbed wire walls of Shield against setting out with a bunch of hanger-ons.

"Who else is going?"

"Coulson," said Fury and paused. She didn't mind Coulson—he was warm, unflappable, and his benign exterior hid a backbone of steel. "Barnes and Rogers." Fury raised his brow, daring her to protest.

Natasha did not give him the satisfaction. She mock-saluted him sharply. "Can't wait."

They were to leave early in the morning. She spotted Coulson and Steve at the gate, chatting amiably. She wasn't surprised they were getting along so well. Hill dawdled beside them, arms crossed. She greeted Natasha briskly.

Bucky jogged up to them a moment later, hair still wet. "It feels good to be getting out of here for a bit," he said. She had a cutting reply ready on her tongue—something about how this wasn't a fucking drill—but she swallowed it. Fury had never sent her with such a large group; obviously he was testing how well she worked with a team. She was going to ensure her teammates were singing her praises by the end of it.

Hill spread open the map on Coulson's backpack. "You'll follow the route the Maximoffs took, but unlike them, you'll stick to the river." They'd gone over this before, but Hill was nothing if not thorough. "This way, you have a better chance of finding the camp, and avoiding what happened to Pietro." There was a delicate pause. "Barnes, Rogers, you haven't encountered the bandits before. They've been raiding Shield off and on over the years but they've never been successful. That does not mean they are any less dangerous. If you're captured, do not expect help. If you manage to escape, send out a flare from the old outpost here." She jabbed at the map. "We'll come get you if we can."

"Lucky us," Bucky muttered under his breath.

"You have permission to kill at sight if you come across any of their scouts."

Coulson's mouth was a thin, hard line. "That's new."

"The bandits dangled the Maximoffs as zombie bait," she replied curtly, folding the map with sharp jerks. "Don't give them the chance to do the same."

Hill nodded at them, held Natasha's eyes briefly, and disappeared into the watchman's cabin to buzz the gate open. Only a handful knew the code to the gate, and it changed frequently. Stark had rigged the mechanism to an interlocking pulley system so it didn't have to depend on electricity. Hill punched the four-digit code and the iron bars slid open with a clang. Thor, who was on sentry duty atop the wooden lookout, waved them out.

.

.

The farmhouse stared at them from atop the hill. It was two storeys high, with a wrap-around porch. A rocking chair creaked in the wind, completing the eerie scene.

Coulson frowned at his map. "This isn't marked."

"We've come further than Wanda and Pietro," answered Natasha. "Makes sense this wouldn't be plotted."

"Let's go inside, then," said Steve, hand already on the gate.

Natasha swiftly blocked him. "That's a terrible idea."

"Actually it's not," said Coulson, staring critically at the house. "If there were humans living up there, it'd be more fortified. No way would those windows be open. And if it had been infested with zombies, we would've seen or heard the signs—they're not exactly subtle. I think that this house has stayed up here…untouched, for quite a while."

"And that means supplies," finished Steve.

Bucky shook his head. "You don't find that suspicious? This house sitting there like the biggest fucking beacon for miles and it's 'untouched'? I'm with Red here, let's move on and concentrate on the task at hand." Natasha scowled at the nickname but appreciated that she had someone on her side, even if it was Bucky.

"I think I know why it's undisturbed." Coulson pointed at a fuse box attached to the gate. "The fence is electrified. Was," he added with a grin, when Steve jumped and withdrew his hand. "It ran on the generator and when the fuel ran out, the humans left."

"Or maybe they left in the first place, made their way to the city," said Steve. "Kept the fence running for when they'd come back. Which they never did. You're right, this place has an air of neglect."

"That would explain why the zombies haven't wrecked the place," said Natasha slowly, coming around. "This box has enough power to fry them to a crisp." Bucky shot her a look of mild betrayal, which would have been amusing in any other circumstance.

They trudged up the slope and stopped in front of the porch. A red-painted barn hugged the side of the house, its large doors swinging lazily in the breeze. The crops planted behind it had all died. Coulson climbed the steps and knocked firmly on the door.

"Wait." Natasha motioned him behind, took a few steps back of her own, and yelled as loudly as she could, "ANYBODY HOME? WE'RE FRIENDLY, WE COME IN PEACE."

The farmhouse glowered at them in silence. "That's a no on the human front."

"Except you've just broadcasted our location to any zombie in the vicinity," growled Bucky.

"Better to draw them out in the open field than to come face to face with one behind the kitchen door."

Steve took up the call. "HEYY! WE'RE NOT HERE TO HURT ANYONE. WE JUST NEED SOME DIRECTIONS!" Coulson gave him a questioning look. "Just in case they're hiding," Steve whispered.

His deep voice received a reply in the form of a zombie's snarl. They followed the sound to behind the farmhouse, where a zombie was entangled in the wired fence. Most of its body was charred but it lifted its head upon smelling them and made swiping gestures with its hand. Bucky lifted his rifle, took aim and fired in one smooth move. The zombie slumped.

"Well, if the gunshot didn't do the trick, nothing else will," remarked Natasha, a little irritated. "Cleary there's no one here. Let's go in."

Steve and Coulson peeled off to check the barn and the basement, which also had a separate entrance. Natasha and Bucky entered the house through the back door. He'd switched his rifle for a pistol, Natasha contended herself with her knife. She rummaged through drawers and kitchen cupboards, throwing useful items to Bucky, who caught them unerringly and stuffed them into his backpack. They moved through the rest of the house with the same speedy efficiency. They cleared corners in silence, each instinctively turning to the other side. Natasha had to remind herself of his military background before she got too impressed.

There was a lot one could learn about someone from their house. The furnishings were plain, but well-cared for. The furniture looked solid and handmade. Crucifixes hung in every room. "No woman was living here," she observed. Bucky quirked a brow and she inclined her head towards the bathroom. "No feminine products in the cabinets."

He picked up a family portrait from the mantelpiece of an old man and his three sons. "There was a better way to figure that out," he smirked.

Natasha peered at the photograph. The sons were well into middle age, unmarried. They probably had known no life outside the farm. "Come on, the attic's still left."

Bucky brought the step-ladder down with a crash, and the hatch clattered open. A battered length of plywood blocked the attic entry. Natasha stared at in surprise, a chill of foreboding running through her veins.

"This does not look good. Let it be."

"We need to at least-" A weak, low moan interrupted him. It came from the attic.

They stood stock still. Slowly, Bucky extended his hand towards her. Natasha realised he wanted her blade. She hesitated before placing the knife in his callused palm. He hefted it in his hand, appreciating its balance, and carefully worked the sharp tip under the corner of the plywood, flipping it loose. Natasha aimed her gun at the dark square that was the attic hatch, ready for whatever had been caged inside.

The truth was far worse than she could have imagined.

The fetid stench slammed into them like a wave. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she realised why they hadn't been attacked outright. Three figures huddled at the far end, handcuffed to the iron rings set into the wall. Two lay unmoving, the third stirred in their presence and groaned.

They were humans.

Natasha knelt down next to the man, who'd once looked so happy posing with his brothers in the photograph, and offered him water. He took a deep drag from the canteen and retched. His breath was foul, his clothes were soiled beyond repair. His eyes had trouble focusing.

"Who did this to you?" asked Bucky roughly.

The man tried to speak but all that came out was a rasp. Natasha tilted her canteen to his lips and made him drink small, measured sips.

"Have- have the zombies gone? Is the world safe again?" He looked at the strained expression on their faces and just like that, all hope leached out of him.

"I'm sorry," whispered Bucky. "Let us get you out of here."

He shuddered. "No—no—I'm not leaving them. Let me stay here, please."

"Hey, it's okay. What's your name? We'll get you help, whatever you want-"

"I want to…talk. Please," he gasped. "It's been so long."

"We're listening," Natasha affirmed. "Was that your family?" She gestured at the decomposing remains.

He nodded with an effort. "They took my youngest brother," he started in a flat monotone. "We watched him transition right in front of our eyes. Father had to shoot him—his favourite son. He put a bullet in his head, and then dropped to the ground and lay there weeping. I'd never seen him cry." His voice broke. He would've been sobbing if his body could have produced tears. "The next day, Father asked my brother and me to follow him to the attic. He knocked us out and we woke up to him nailing the hatch shut. We'd been bound."

"Why?" she asked, without really wanting to.

"Because he wasn't going to let another one of us turn into those abominations. He had rat poison with him, all poured out into individual glasses like fuckin' wine. He handcuffed himself too, just in case we woke up as the undead. He said he'd meet us all in heaven, and _cheers_. Down it all went." His hands started shaking uncontrollably, but his voice remained a steady drone that made Natasha dig her nails into her palm. "My brother and I vomited it out immediately. Father kept it down. We watched him die, writhing and twisting. His eyes never left me, and I knew he was disappointed in us for not being brave enough." A quivering sigh. "Time stopped after that. I was hungry, so hungry…my mouth dried up, I couldn't speak. And I wished—I wished I would turn, so at least I would stop thinking. At least I would be able to sate my hunger.

"I watched my brother chew through his wrists. One day, he suddenly gave up. He stopped moving. It's just me now." He raised his pale face towards them. "And you're here. Thank you for listening. I just need…please…" He held Bucky's gaze, who flinched.

He turned to Natasha next. His eyes met hers, pleading.

A long moment later, she nodded.

.

.

Steve and Coulson found them just as she finished cleaning the blood off her blade. She strapped it back against her hip and casually inquired about their search. "It was a bust," reported Steve, splashing water from the kitchen sink on his face. "The only thing we found is that I might be a little allergic to hay." His eyes were running and his nose was red.

Coulson ribbed him about being a city boy.

"Brooklyn, actually."

"Ugh. I'm surprised you took so long to bring it up."

"Hey-"

But Coulson had already turned his attention to Natasha. "What did you find?"

Natasha examined her hands, wondering where the fuck to begin. How could she put into words the awfulness of what he'd been through, watching his loved ones waste away next to him, dying a little himself every day? Or how he'd begged her to end him, how Bucky had tried his best to make him change his mind? Promises of food, water, company—nothing swayed him. He was broken, there was no going back. What Natasha had granted him at the end of her blade was a small mercy.

He hadn't even given them his name. The only thing left was his story. He'd carved a piece of that horror and offered it to them. It pulsed in her, and in Bucky, who stood silently behind her. She didn't know if she could drag that darkness into the sunlit kitchen where Steve and Coulson faced them, hair tousled from the wind, laughter in their eyes.

Perhaps Bucky felt the same, for he answered when Steve shot him a slight frown; he was starting to notice something amiss.

"Nothing. You were right, whoever was living here left a long time ago." And he shouldered his backpack filled with supplies—the only survivors of this tragedy—and strode out. He didn't look at her at all, but the understanding between them remained.

.

.

"When you said _bandits_ ," said Bucky. "I pictured something else."

The courtyard of the hospital which doubled as the bandits' camp—and they really needed to stop calling it _camp_ because this was a highly organised base—was open and the terrace of the apartment complex two buildings down provided a good view of the buzzing activity. From their vantage point, Natasha could make out the men and women milling about on their daily routine. It could have been just another day at Shield.

"What did you expect?" snapped Coulson. "People in masks waving sawed off shotguns in the air?" He'd banged his head badly on the fire escape on their way up the abandoned building, and kept clutching his temples.

"They look like a bunch of people trying to survive," Steve pointed out. "They're just like Shield." In fact, if Coulson hadn't recognised the two men at the riverside from a past raid, they wouldn't have thought of following them to the small town at the edge of the forest. It had been a quaint place once upon a time, built upon the prospect of sturdy timber. Now it hosted undead stragglers in its streets and a group that had vexed Shield and its members for a long while.

"What's Fury's problem with them anyway?" demanded Bucky.

Natasha left the history lesson to Coulson and concentrated on gathering as much intel as she could from her bird's-eye view of the hospital. "They've been looting and plundering for a long time, using dirty, underhand means. God help you if you're a lone human survivor and happen to pass through their territory. They have no moral code whatsoever."

"I don't understand," muttered Steve. "If we're breathing we're all on the same side."

Bucky rolled his eyes in fond exasperation. "The world had been fucked up way before the zombies came into the picture, Steve."

Coulson smiled faintly and eyed the distant horizon. "It's simple. They want Shield and its secure walls. They've seen our strength, they know about our resources. They used to be based out of the woods, moving their camp from place to place. I didn't know they'd turned _urban_."

"Maybe they've finally settled down to become good, honest citizens," cracked Bucky. "Seriously though, it looks like they've found themselves a solid base. It could be they don't want Shield anymore."

"The attacks _have_ slackened recently," Coulson admitted. "Fury wanted to know why."

"They're planning something. Something big."

It was the only conclusion she could come to after analysing the bandits' movements. There was order in the chaos—they were preparing, readying, training. Coulson turned to her, assessing. His brown eyes flickered down at the hospital, and he nodded.

"Let's find out."

.

.

It was a simple plan. Get close to the hospital under the cover of night, look for alternative entrances—Natasha and Coulson would sneak in and try to find out what the bandits were planning, Steve and Bucky would keep watch. It all went to shit soon.

The electronics shop, its display window covered with TV monitors that were somehow still on, fell on their way. A horde of zombies stared glaze-eyed at the screens showing nothing but static. As dusk had fallen, the buzzing and the light had drawn them like moths to flame. A few pawed at the glass lazily.

"Fuck," said Natasha softly. They would have to sneak past them in order to get to the hospital, which was at the end of the road. Coulson put his finger to his lips and motioned them forward. Bucky fell in step alongside her, eyes fixed at the zombies. Natasha scouted ahead for the both of them, looking out for shards of glass or potholes—anything that would make noise or trip them.

A pair of shambling figures approached them in the distance. They hadn't gotten close enough yet to scent the four of them, but once they did their excitement would make them known to the horde. Shooting them was out of the question—the crack of the bullet, amplified in the still night, would bring the horde on to them instantaneously. Natasha flicked her eyes towards the zombies—they were too many of them. Maybe they could take them out with guns, but there was a chance the bandits would hear the fight and come investigating. The road offered no convenient alleys either.

Her heart pounding, Natasha squeezed Bucky's arm urgently. He stopped, noticed the incoming threat, and swore under his breath. Behind, Coulson and Steve stumbled.

"Turn around slowly," whispered Coulson. "When I say so, we run back as fast as we can. Do not stop. Don't give them a chance to pursue you. We meet again at the riverside and regroup."

Natasha knew what that meant—the waste of another day and a chance to find out what the bandits were up to. They were planning to move somewhere en masse, she was sure of that, and she had a horrible feeling where. The four of them could still continue with their plan—they were close, so close—but Natasha also knew when to retreat. Coulson was right; regrouping and coming prepared the next day was wise.

Beside her, Bucky fidgeted. "We can still make it-"

"Don't be stupid," she cut him off. She could feel him about to take off, not towards safety, but towards the zombies. That plan had crossed Natasha's mind already, of running up to the two approaching zombies and slashing them before they could make a sound. It was a highly risky move. Natasha pushed back his shoulders. "No!"

"Guys." Steve's voice was forcibly calm. "Something's happening in the hospital."

Natasha's vision went white. Time froze.

The open terrace of the hospital lit up like a lighthouse. A powerful spotlight danced against the stark sky, and then, in a predatory motion, trained unerringly on the four of them.

"Fuck," said Bucky in an understatement.

 _Move, don't think_. Natasha crouched and rolled away from the light. Her eyes that had been blinded by the spotlight now struggled to adjust. The bandits followed their movements from above, picking them out as juicy targets for the zombies.

First things first, though. She grabbed her gun from her belt and shot the zombie that had been coming towards them. The force of the bullet hurled it backwards. Its partner didn't stop to look and quickened its staggering pace. Fast as lightening, Bucky blew its brains out. The shots echoed around them, but it didn't matter if they used guns now.

Natasha turned towards the other immediate concern—namely the horde of zombies that had now recognised them as a more satisfying entertainment. Steve and Coulson were picking them out one by one with their guns but it was difficult to aim with the waving spotlight disorienting them. "GO! RUN!" she screamed at them. Then, Natasha gritted her teeth and plunged into the pack with a yell.

She hacked and slashed zombie flesh without mercy, punched and kicked the rotting heads that snapped at her. Her body was taken over by only one instinct—to buy her teammates enough time to escape. She stabbed at a zombie that tried to bite her arm. She wasted precious seconds working her knife free from its eye socket. Another caught hold of her jacket and tried to drag her down. She blasted half its head off and swung the butt of her gun into the neck of a zombie who'd crept from behind. A third snarled and grabbed at her. She snarled back and sliced its face viciously.

Foul-smelling blood splattered across her. Natasha realised she was panting hard. The zombies were overwhelming, never-ending. She was surrounded. Her arms turned to lead. _This is it, Romanoff_.

And then. Unexpectedly Bucky was next to her, grimly dispatching the zombies around her. "Stop dawdling, Red!" he barked.

Energy coursed through her like a shock of lightening. They stood back to back, holding back the horde. Bucky used his rifle to keep the zombies at a distance, switching to a blade when they got too close. Natasha found a long stick of iron broken off from a lamppost and smashed skulls with abandon. And finally, she spotted a break. "LET'S GO!"

They escaped the pack only to be stopped by a hail of bullets that tore the tarmac in front of them. The bandits had switched things up. Natasha and Bucky immediately flattened themselves against the ground. The shooting stopped just as soon as it'd begun. Natasha chanced a peek and there was Steve, deflecting the bullets with a circular trashcan lid bigger than his head. She stared incredulously as the shots pinged off the metal.

"Go, go!" he yelled. "This won't hold for long."

They ran. Steve followed them, not before tossing the now dented lid at a random zombie and nearly decapitating it.

"Nice shield!" remarked Bucky. Steve grinned. Coulson brought up the rear, shooting without aim to keep them distracted. And just like that, the four of them disappeared into the night.

.

.

Bucky drew first watch that night. Natasha settled in her sleeping bag and sighed. Sleep, of course, wasn't going to be easy. Her usual nightmares trembled just below the surface, and she knew if she closed her eyes they would reel her in. She wasn't going to let them, especially in front of the others.

She rose and padded to where Bucky was sitting against a tree trunk. He remained silent as she dropped next to him and folded her legs Indian-style. The only source of illumination was the dying embers of the campfire. He looked terrible. They all did—they'd barely had time to check for possible bites before Coulson had made them pack everything and set up camp in a place far, far away.

"Thank you," she started, looking down at her fingers that were pulling up grass by its roots. "For coming after me."

"It was mad what you did," he said. "You're absolutely insane." Surely, she must have imagined the awe in his voice.

Natasha cleared her throat. "And as for the whole dog bite thing…" Well, it seemed like she was in a confessing mood. Might as well go all out. "I'm not going to apologize for it, but maybe I could have handled it better."

"You did rattle Steve." Bucky grinned. "You can be quite scary." Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, especially when you do that. But I know where you were coming from—better dead than undead."

"Except humans are sometimes worse."

"You'd think we'd all learn to get along while the world is falling apart." He shook his head with disgust. "But today, with those _bandits_ … They were _using_ those zombies."

"You noticed it too—that the television screens still had power? Those zombies were their extra line of defence. It's smart, actually."

"Diabolical, really. And those spotlights—did they know we were from Shield?"

"I doubt it made a difference. Zombie baiting is their favourite manoeuvre."

"Is that what happened with the twins?"

Natasha sighed. "Kind of. Wanda told me they were tailing a couple of bandit scouts. They were hoping to find their base. Only it turned out the bandits knew they were being followed and led them straight to a nest of zombies."

"I don't know how your—how Fury selects people for these _missions_ ," he said, making air quotes around the word. "But I would have sent someone more experienced on such a dangerous trip."

There had, in fact, been some discontent, especially after Pietro died. Natasha had discussed this with Coulson, who'd disagreed with Fury's choice since the beginning. But what she gave Bucky instead was the bland diatribe of everyone "earning" their keep at Shield.

He snorted. "Right." A pause. "You know, I keep thinking about that man in the house."

Natasha nodded. Almost dying in the middle of a pack of zombies wasn't half as terrible as staring into the eyes of the man in the attic as he narrated his tale.

"Thank _you_ for…taking care of him. I wouldn't have been able to, but you helped him on."

"I'm the crazy one, remember?"

"And extremely brave." Their eyes met, held, and Natasha's cheeks warmed. She was glad of the dim light. No one had ever called her brave before.

"I'm not calling you Bucky," she blurted out.

"What?"

"If we're going to be working _together_ -" The word hung between them tentatively. "-I'm not calling you Bucky. It's a ridiculous name."

He flashed her a smirk and suddenly he didn't look like he'd been fighting zombies a few hours ago. "Well, I did tell you to call me James," he drawled.

"James, it is."

Natasha settled in more comfortably, and when it was time for her watch, he didn't make a single move to leave. They stayed up together, listening to the sounds of the forest.

.

.

Fury had called her into his office—formerly the staff break room—for a "debriefing". She'd given him all the information she had gathered on the bandits in her short period of observation—their numbers, supplies, ammunition. And when he asked her what she thought they were gearing up for:

"The bandits are planning a full-scale invasion." It was the deduction that made the most sense.

He nodded, face devoid of expression. "I was expecting something like that."

"It's madness. Why do they want Shield so badly? Their base seemed strong enough."

"It's been years since the outbreak. Humans can now plan for beyond day-to-day survival. The bandits feel their best chance lies with Shield."

"Is there something you're not telling us about them?"

"No. I know as much as you do. The bandits have always made their motive pretty transparent," he replied coolly.

Natasha considered probing further but when he fixed her with that one-eyed stare, she dropped the matter for now. "This is going to end badly."

"Regardless, we need to be fully prepared." Fury outlined his long-term plan: strengthening Shield's defences, sending out scouts to monitor the bandits' movements, sabotaging them if required.

"There's a lot to do, Romanoff. I hope you're up for it."

 _Not as if I have a choice_. "Of course."

.

.

Fury kept them working their asses off the next few weeks. Natasha helped out Stark in his lab as he tinkered with various designs to strengthen Shield's security; this mostly consisted of listening to his prattling—curiously, he had been letting slip Steve's name with increasing frequency in his talks—and reining in his more outrageous ideas. She took inventory of the ammunitions and food with Darcy Lewis, who was known for keeping immaculate records, and gossiped with her about Jane Foster and Thor. She patrolled the boundary of Shield with Sam Wilson during the nights, playing Atlas to keep themselves awake.

Every moment of the day she didn't spend wolfing down her meals or working, she gave to her training. She ran laps of the grounds, exercised behind the burnt down husk of the faculty wing, and refined her shooting skills with mock bullets refashioned out of spent ones; they wouldn't do much harm in a real fight but made for decent target practice. James—she'd made the transition from Bucky to James with an ease which might have alarmed her if she had had any time to properly think about it—joined her, without fail, every day. He kept up with her easy, and even offered himself as a sparring partner when her old punching bag finally fell apart. She didn't mind his company, especially when he took over her teaching duties—some Shield members had atrocious aim, and James was way more patient than her.

Natasha knew that the bandits were coming for them. But then a fortnight passed, and another, and at the month's mark, the tense atmosphere at Shield lessened considerably. Scott Lang and Hope van Dyne came back from a scouting trip to report that the bandits had crossed the state border. "They weren't after Shield at all," proposed Coulson. "Maybe they're heading to the mountains. We'll finally be rid of them for good." The news was received with great pleasure. Even Hill cracked a smile. Fury expressed his relief, but the wariness behind his eyes never wavered.

He did, however, loosen his hold over Natasha. She'd stayed behind the past month presumably because of her "value" to Shield, but she gathered it was because Fury didn't want her on any more intel-gathering missions on the bandits. Which proved her suspicions that she'd spooked Fury that day; there was clearly more to the story. But Natasha kept her concerns to herself and did not let up her training. She spent every day on the edge, waiting for the ringing alarms that would signal that the bandits hadn't forgotten about Shield. It was likely why her punching bag had given out; venting out her frustrations daily on it had proven too much for that old ball of rags.

Finally being allowed to resume her usual supply runs and zombie thinning expeditions came as a blessed reprieve. Natasha started looking forward to them more and more, and according to Pepper, a major reason was a certain brown-haired man.

Natasha, who was washing her plate when Pepper had dropped this _blatant untruth_ , laughed it off.

"Every meal, the two of you sit together."

"Yeah, with _Steve_ as well."

"Not since Steve started helping Tony with the greenhouse."

"Yeah, what is up with that? Stark's been annoying you less too."

Pepper forged ahead. "And you keep going out for supply runs together."

"Because Fury keeps pairing us up."

"Who knows what goes on under the tent in the middle of the woods?"

"What about the middle of the woods?" James had stolen up behind them. Natasha's heart gave a treacherous lurch. Giving no indication of having heard the previous part of their conversation, James drained his glass of water and informed Natasha they were getting late for shooting practice. He touched her shoulder briefly. She left with him, doing her best to ignore Pepper's sly, knowing glance.

.

.

Perhaps Pepper was right.

 _A junkyard full of rusted, mangled cars_. Natasha noticed the patch on his jacket and asked James about his time in the Howling Commandoes. He told her how Steve had worked so hard to be enlisted, how his unit had become his family, how he had almost plunged to death from a mountain in Afghanistan, how Steve had saved his life.

 _Under a sky so clear they could see the Milky Way_. He shook her awake from the throes of a particularly horrible nightmare. He listened as she spoke of blood on her hands and red in her ledger, without pressing for details. Then he made her laugh by pointing out silly patterns in the stars.

 _Walking on old railway tracks that stretched for miles_. She found out he was proficient in ASL. He learnt that she could do ballet. Their favourite breakfast food was pancakes.

 _Beside a pond festering with corpses of the undead_. She bandaged a nasty cut on his shoulder and when her hands lingered, he shivered.

 _Softly treading room by room in a silent house, guns at arm's length_. A zombie grabbed James from behind the door. He stuck his gun into its mouth to prevent it from biting, but its rotting hands held on to him, shredding his clothes, almost reaching skin.

Natasha did not freeze. She pointed her weapon and asked James if he trusted her. It was a risky shot—close-range with a rifle, and he was between her and the zombie. Her aim was good, but not as good as James.

"Yes," he answered, immediately.

She fired. The bullet grazed his ear and hit the zombie square in its face. It reeled. James turned around and socked its head. Natasha fired again, finishing it off. James, clutching his bleeding ear, grinned and gave her a high-five. It was only then that she realised her hands were trembling.

And later, in her tiny room at Shield, Natasha lay awake the entire night, shaken with the realisation of how simply and without hesitation he had put his life in her hands.


	2. Chapter 2

When Jane revealed that she was pregnant, all of Shield broke into an impromptu celebration. She'd suspected for a while, but waited till the first trimester to tell everyone. She had been quivering with trepidation when she'd visited Banner's clinic, scared people would think her irresponsible. Life—new, miraculous life—meant different things to different people, but that night, everyone agreed that Jane's baby was proof that they weren't just existing in this world, they were _living_ ; they still had the capacity to create.

Jane and Thor sat next to each other, a bit overwhelmed, joy leaking out of every pore. Jane seemed relaxed; Banner had pronounced both mother and child healthy. Thor couldn't stop looking at her, touching her. He jumped to his feet whenever she so much as stirred, and brought her water, plates of food, and even a cold compress for her feet. Darcy and Pepper swooned.

Darcy cracked open the booze and the party slowly evolved into a blur of laughter and singing. Peter Quill dusted off the gramophone he had been restoring. Sam handed him a Marvin Gaye record he'd found in the library. They cheered at the first notes of "Trouble Man". Coulson twirled Wanda around recklessly, who tipped her head back and laughed, the first time in months. Scott devised a complicated drinking game which fell apart quickly and Hope decided that they should drink whenever anyone did anything. Banner stood at the threshold, clutching his glass, humming absent-mindedly, until Pepper asked him for a dance. He looked startled, but said yes. Stark and Steve conversed in a corner, heads bent together. Stark had barely sipped his drink.

James watched them with narrowed eyes. He threw his hands in the air when Steve leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss on Stark's mouth. "Out of all the men in Shield," he grumbled. "He has to go and pick the most annoying one." But the look he sent them over his shoulder was nothing short of fond. Natasha smiled.

Soft strains of music followed them out into the night. Natasha leaned against the great oak, the breeze ruffling her hair, and watched the revellers spill out onto the rippling grass. The sky had darkened; it would rain soon. James came to stand before her. He was close, too close. She didn't push him away.

"I swear I could see your foot tapping to the music." In the dim light, his eyes glinted mischievously—sometimes grey, sometimes brown.

Natasha lifted her chin. "I don't dance."

"You do ballet."

"I _did_ ballet."

James' gaze turned inward. "I'm wondering if we'll ever go back to the way things were—the things that used to give us joy. Watching Jane and Thor..."

"I'm happy for them. Shield needed a little bit of levity—something tells me this will be short-lived."

"So even you think the bandits are not done with us?" He was quick, as usual.

"No they definitely are not," she said. The conversation was taking a grave tone. For once, Natasha wanted to steer it to lighter, more pleasurable matters.

Holding his gaze carefully, Natasha wound a hand round the back of his neck and drew him forward. Her nails scratched lightly against his skin, and he groaned. He raised his arms, telegraphing every moment, and placed his palms on either side of her. It was easy to forget his bulk, how tall he was. Now, Natasha was hyper aware of every part of him as he cocooned her; his warmth, his scent.

When they kissed, Natasha felt alive for the first time in years.

It was as gentle as the rain that was falling down around them. Natasha parted her mouth and let him in. Heat coursed through her body as they deepened the kiss. His hands skimmed her back and slipped under her shirt. She arched into him, and he pushed her with a growl, his body pinning her against the tree.

"I like this side of you," she purred, nipping his ear.

James shuddered, unable to say a word. Instead he buried his head into her neck and sucked on her pulse point. She gasped and clawed at his jacket, desperate to rip into shreds.

They would have stood there entangled in each other for god knows how long if Natasha hadn't noticed through the delicious fog in her brain that something was wrong. The music had stopped. The drunken laughter had been replaced by a low, urgent buzz.

Natasha lowered her leg—she hadn't even noticed when she had wrapped it around him—and hissed, "James. Wait."

He lifted his head immediately, the pupils in his eyes blown wide. She pointed, and at once he caught the strangeness of the scene.

"Something's happened."

.

.

They fixed themselves and walked back into the dining hall. They stood so close their arms brushed against each other, but no one commented.

Everyone's attention was on Hill, who in turn was staring at her radio set. Her deep blue eyes were shining. It could have been the alcohol, but to Natasha, she looked…hopeful.

Sam filled them in. "Hill received a broadcast just now. It was the military, looking for human survivors."

Natasha staggered. They hadn't heard from the military since the outbreak. They'd assumed it had collapsed along with other government organisations. This was huge.

"If the military is reaching out to us," pointed out Banner. "It means a permanent settlement. It means the chance of a _cure_."

There was a pin drop of silence. Then voices broke, expressing varying degrees of hope and relief. This nightmare would be over, it would be all over…

"Did they say anything back?" asked Natasha cautiously.

"No, it was a recurring broadcast. It stopped now," said Hill. "But they used all the correct identifiers. It is the military."

"It could be a trap." Fury emerged from the shadows—a few people jumped—the panes of his face set in stone. "Set by the bandits to lure us out. It's too risky."

"And it's too risky a chance to pass up," snapped Hill. "We have to check."

"Maria's right," said Coulson, breaking the glaring match between the head of Shield and his deputy. "Someone needs to at least make sure this is legit."

"I'll go." The words were out of Natasha before she could process the implications.

"I'll go with her." James rose to his feet. They stood side by side, daring anyone to object.

Puzzled eyes took them in. A low murmur filled the room. Steve scanned them, the surprise on his face gradually being taken over by understanding.

Fury remained silent for a long time. Then: "The two of you do make good partners."

 _Partners_. The word burned between them, bright as the sun.

.

.

The coordinates given in the broadcast pointed to a seaside town, more than a day away. They headed for the coast in the morning in a rusted red pick-up truck that Stark swore worked. They rode in comfortable silence, the wind whistling through the cracked windows their only source of music. The kiss hadn't been forgotten; instead, there was an unspoken agreement to table it for later.

"We're here." James shook her awake. They'd taken turns driving through the night, wanting to reach the source of the signal as soon as possible. She'd fallen asleep to the lull of the car and the rhythm of his breathing.

"You should have woken me up," she grumbled, stretching out a kink in her neck.

"Nah, you looked cute." His fingers lingered on her throat, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Oh yes, they hadn't forgotten about the kiss.

There was no sign of anyone, alive or dead, at the dockyard. The storefronts and restaurants lining the quay were silent. Natasha peered over the edge at the grey water, a thin tendril of fear stroking her spine. Motorboats bobbed on the surface, looking like they hadn't been touched in ages. Most seemed beyond repair.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" James eyed his surroundings warily.

Natasha frowned. "The coordinates were very specific."

"Just that there's _nothing_ here. Not even a zombie."

"I know. I can see that," she muttered irritably. Her body was taut with tension; she kept expecting bandits to come crawling out of the woodwork.

Hill had been quite convinced of the authenticity of the broadcast. Natasha believed her, but the question was: why here? There was nothing for miles but the big, blue sea.

The sea.

"It wasn't just the military. It was the navy!"

Hope sparked in his eyes. "You mean one of these boats-"

Natasha nodded furiously, rapidly scanning the docks. "That one!" It was smaller than expected, and for all intents and purpose, appeared civilian. But years of experience had taught her to seek out the little details that did not fit. This boat screamed government.

They sprinted across the jetty, the planks protesting under their weight. As far as she knew, zombies could not swim. It made perfect sense for the government to set up a haven on an island. It would take a number of trips, but this boat could ferry all of Shield to safety.

James reached first. "Hello!" he called out. "We're from Shield. We received your message?"

There was no answer.

It was the house on the hill all over again. Swallowing her apprehension, Natasha leapt off the jetty onto the deck.

A corpse dressed in navy fatigues greeted her. A zombie. James cursed.

Without a word, they split up. Natasha explored the lower deck, gun drawn, feeling stupider by the minute. She encountered more of the crew on the way. Some were human, some had transitioned. All were dead. Someone on board had been infected, and it had spread. By the time the boat had reached the dock, it was too late.

Her theory was confirmed when she reached the communication room. A body was slumped in front of the console, a bullet wound gaping on the side of his head. His pants were torn, and his thigh was crusted with dried blood and what was clearly a zombie bite. He had been the last man standing, had realised he was bitten, and shot himself.

Natasha wanted to scream. She should have seen the signs. Why was the boat not tied to the pier? Because there had been no one left to secure it. It had been carried by the current to the dock, where it had stayed for years—judging by the calendar attached to the wall—waiting for them. And she hadn't noticed anything. She'd been distracted by the prospect of good news.

James appeared on the threshold, face grim.

"The broadcast is old," she answered his unspoken question.

"H-how?"

She gestured listlessly at the dashboard. "It was set to be sent out periodically—once every couple of months, I'm guessing. It was the last thing this man did, probably hoping for someone to hear and come to them."

"And Hill happened to be on the right frequency at the right time."

"Just two years late."

James groaned and punched the wall. When he glanced up, his eyes were wet. And Natasha realised that, while he hadn't shown it, he had staked all hope on this fool's mission. He looked positively crushed. She approached him, hand outstretched. She touched his shoulder, and he seemed to collapse inward.

Roughly wiping away his tears, James ground out, "I thought this was our way out. I thought we were done living in fear, looking over our shoulders, for zombies and fucking bandits alike. I thought we were _done_." His voice was hollow, and something in Natasha's chest tightened.

"What do we do now?" he finally asked.

They could go in search of the island, if it even existed. There was no sign of this boat being a part of a larger military operation, no maps, and no other coordinates. They could take the boat into the high sea and ride the currents, until the fuel ran out.

"We go back," she said steadfastly. "And we try not to roll our eyes at Fury's I-told-you-so."

James smiled without humour. But he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and stood. Natasha rose to her tiptoes and cupped his cheek gently. His eyes shuttered at her touch. They left the cabin together, not looking back. Hope was only going to get you in trouble in this world.

.

.

Fury and Coulson took the news stoically. Hill stalked off the room without a word. For the first time ever, Natasha pitied the woman.

After Coulson left to check on her, Fury remarked, "So it wasn't a trap, but was as good as one." This was the closest he would come to an _'I told you so_ '.

Those were grim days for Shield. Laughter was seldom heard and everyone kept their head down and finished their work. They knew there was no one coming to save them anymore, that Shield was it for them.

Those were happy days for Natasha. It felt wrong to feel such peace when everyone else was struggling, but Natasha figured it was high time she learned to be selfish. She spent almost every waking moment working and training with James. Steve joined them from time to time, and they even allowed Stark to eat with them, provided he stop cracking dirty innuendos about them.

James had all but shifted into her room. He'd been nervous as hell the first time, because he knew what a big deal it was for her to let him into her space. But this was a choice Natasha made for herself and she never regretted it, night after night, as she lost herself to his touch, as she succumbed to a bliss she thought she'd never experience again, as her nightmares were finally banished from the world.

.

.

Fury had them ranging further and further these days.

He sent them to a town that Natasha knew intimately. "Is there a problem?" he'd asked, as if it wasn't the same place he'd found her, devastated and alone.

"Not at all," she'd replied.

She was on edge the entire time. Her skin crawled with unease. _It's a big town_ , she kept telling herself, _you don't have to worry_. She tried to hide her disquiet, but James noticed, of course.

"Okay, what is it?" he finally asked, as they were raiding a surprisingly stocked supermarket.

"This town just brings back bad memories, that's all," she said lightly.

"What happened here?"

Natasha paused. This was a pivotal moment, but she knew she had to tell him. He deserved the truth. "My partner and I were here on work when the outbreak occurred. We had no clue what was happening. There was chaos everywhere. A bunch of us were holed up in the hotel, but it was too late. Someone was already infected. There was so much blood… My partner—we killed so many that day." Natasha recounted the memory as if it had happened to someone else.

"We got out, survived for a few months in a safe house. We were looking for a ride out of town, when- when he got bitten." Her voice faltered. "It was the stupidest thing ever. He was protecting me—came in between me and a zombie. And that was that." She inhaled sharply. "Fury found me just as I was ready to give up. He was driving across, looking for survivors to bring back to Shield."

James listened without comment. His eyes were gentle when he asked, "When you say partner…?"

Natasha sighed. This was it, the last of her she'd kept hidden from him. "There's something about me you need to know."

They sat facing each other across the grocery aisle as Natasha finally revealed her past life. She told him about working as a government agent, being partnered with Clint Barton, doing the nation's dirty work. "I've done terrible, terrible things, James. Even before the outbreak. I've killed people, I've infiltrated organisations, I've spied on innocents." She let out a harsh laugh. "In a way, I'm glad of the zombies. At least I get to start over."

"That explains a…lot," said James. "Your combat skills, the way you handle a gun. How you recognised the boat on sight. Why Fury treats you like an asset."

She stared at him in wonder. He was taking this so normally… "Later Fury told me he was also a part of a government organisation. Another one, but we have that much in common."

James nodded. "I gathered as much. He runs Shield like a goddam spy. All those 'missions' and 'intel' and 'debriefings'."

"How- how are you not horrified?"

He looked her straight in the eye. "It does not matter to me, wouldn't have then, doesn't now. You think I don't have blood on my hands? You think you're the only one who's done awful things while 'following orders'? I do not think less of you, Red. I don't think I ever would."

Natasha blinked back tears.

"Thank you," he said. "For sharing it with me."

"I-"

 _Crash_. Shattering glass. They were on their feet instantly, weapons out.

"Sounds like we have company," remarked James. He disappeared into the back of the store, towards the sound. Natasha took a few moments to compose herself. There was a loud thud. "It's a feisty one!" he called out.

Natasha emerged in the dairy section to find the zombie pinned to the floor. It turned its face and roared, and she stopped breathing, her legs giving out. For trapped beneath the upturned shelf, out of all the grocery stores in town, as if he'd heard her talking about him, lay Clint Barton.

.

.

James took one look at the expression on her face and said, "Did you used to know him?"

"No, no, no, _Clint_!"

His eyes widened. " _This_ was your partner! The one who was bitten? But I thought-"

"No, I did not kill him. I couldn't!" she yelled, backing away. "We'd been partners for years, had been through so much together. I could not make myself do it. He told me to run. So I ran. I left him and I ran." The full horror of what she'd done hit her again and she choked back a sob. "I didn't expect to come across him like this…"

Which was a stupid thing to expect. Of course Clint had turned. Zombie bites were irreversible. But meeting him here, immediately after she'd told James about him… Natasha did not believe in fate but somehow, someway, her story had drawn Clint towards them.

"But what you told Wanda, I thought you knew how it felt. That you'd done it before."

"I'm a good liar," she said with a weak smile.

James lowered his gun slowly. He looked nauseated. "We can't leave him again."

"We can't," she agreed, but did not move.

"I can—if you want—I can take care of him. Just turn away." Natasha knew what he was offering—the same mercy she'd given the man in the attic. He would spare her from destroying this part of her life, if she just asked.

"No." It was like pulling teeth, but she continued, "It should be me."

Natasha pointed her gun at the face of the man who had once been her partner, her best friend. It was a rare thing they had—someone who always had her back, someone she trusted unreservedly. He'd mentored her, gifted her his beloved knife, saved her life. And now she had to murder him.

She was crying in earnest now. Her hands shook so badly the gun was in danger of slipping. She almost dropped her arm until James whispered, "Look at him, Red. Look into his eyes."

There was nothing. His face was gaunt, his hair rotten, his mouth stinking of blood and flesh. And Clint's eyes, once warm and open, were full of hunger and rage. He struggled and bucked against the weight of the shelf, only one thing on his mind—to eat her.

Natasha squeezed the trigger. Once, twice.

The bullets found their home in Clint's skull. Blood painted the tiles. He let out a final snarl and lay still.

She threw away her gun and collapsed on the floor. There were no tears, just a huge, gaping void. Each shot had echoed deep inside her, shredding her apart. Nothing in the world would ever fix her again-

"Natasha."

Her name. His voice. It was a beacon drawing her out of the darkness. She tugged on the bond and followed it back to the man she lov-

Natasha crashed into him with a wild clash of teeth and lips. She kissed him roughly, desperately, nothing like ever before. She poured all her pain, everything she couldn't say into it, and he responded in kind. His touch set her aflame and Natasha had no intention of letting go, ever again.

She slowed down, and James held her. Stroking her hair, he murmured, over and over again, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Promise me something, James," she said a long while later.

"Anything."

"If I'm ever bitten, shoot me."

James hesitated. She tugged on his hair, made him hold her gaze. "Promise me," she repeated.

"Okay. But you have to promise me the same."

"If you're bitten, I will not let you transition," she said in a hoarse voice. "I _will_ kill you."

"Thank you."

.

.

For one mad moment, Natasha had almost suggested they leave, that they abandon Shield and continue on in the rusted red pick-up truck. The thought of returning filled her with dread. But in the end, she cleaned herself up and got into the car silently.

The mood at Shield was unexpectedly tense. Coulson intercepted them on their way to the dining hall.

"The bandits have been spotted nearby."

"I thought they'd crossed over to another state?"

"A fake-out. They took the long way, and now they're here."

Natasha resisted the urge to say _I told you so_.

The bandits arrived the next day, as silent as death. They took cover behind trees, the natural elevation of the ground working in their favour. Natasha and Hill surveyed them from atop the watchtower behind the boundary wall of Shield.

"It's hard to estimate properly," said Hill. "But their numbers are fewer than ours."

"What is their plan here, exactly?"

"To lay siege, starve us out maybe."

She snorted. "Yeah, I think we have enough provisions to outlast them."

The long-awaited battle was a quiet one, almost anti-climactic. Overnight, the bandits had dug trenches and they hid there, occasionally emerging with bouts of gunfire. During the night, a few would attempt to climb over the wall. The night patrol would repel them every time. Thor was injured one night, a gunshot to the leg, and sent to Banner's clinic to recuperate. Jane was secretly pleased—at least he would be away from the frontline.

Natasha could see this stalemate going on forever. Shield held on resolutely, but the stress of being on constant fight mode had started taking its toll. Tempers began fraying, nerves started coming apart. Stark was more belligerent than usual, Banner had a permanent frown line, and even Steve became more subdued. Finally Coulson had enough and without telling Fury, he marched towards the watchtower with a flag fashioned out of a white T-shirt and stick.

James and Natasha hurried behind him as backup. When he'd climbed to the top, Coulson shouted at the top of his voice, waving the white flag, "STOP THIS MADNESS! LET'S TALK AND SORT THIS OUT."

There was silence, then a lone figure stepped into range. Natasha could not make out his features except for the russet colour of his hair.

"So Shield is interested in sitting down and talking? Really." The wind carried his deep and arrogant voice to them.

Coulson gasped. He staggered as if he were shot. "This can't be," he exclaimed. "Alexander Pierce!"

The bandit smirked. "Tell Nick I say hello."

.

.

Coulson ran at full speed to the dining hall, grass ripping under his feet. Natasha had trouble keeping up.

"Who is Alexander Pierce?" asked James, confused.

"He used to be in Shield," Natasha muttered. "Until he rebelled. But I thought Fury had all of them killed-"

"Well apparently _not_!" fumed Coulson. "Where is he- NICK!"

Fury walked in calmly. "What, Phil?"

Coulson grabbed him by the collar—Natasha started, but did not intervene—and snarled, "What is Alexander Pierce doing with the bandits."

Fury disentangled himself. He looked around at the shocked faces of the members of Shield and said coolly, "He's their leader."

Stark blanched. "You mean to say they aren't dead?"

"No, I did not kill them. I exiled them, a mercy that has obviously come to bite me in the ass."

"You should have told us!" said Coulson.

"And have you become sympathetic to them?" sneered Fury. "No. The bandits needed to be destroyed."

"Can someone explain what's going on?" asked Steve.

Fury cleared his throat. "Alexander Pierce and I were friends. We were with each other during the outbreak. You could say we founded Shield together. But soon, a rift appeared. Pierce had different ideas on how to run Shield, notions that went against mine." He grimaced. "A small group within Shield supported him. One night, they tried to take control. Some of you were there, you remember how it went." Stark glowered at him. "We crushed them, and instead of executing, I banished them, something which I regret doing till date."

"Why did you lie to us?" asked Hill. Her voice was matter-of-fact, but her eyes tracked his every movement.

"Because I had to protect the status quo. Shield runs on certain rules, everyone had to understand the seriousness of breaking them."

"How did we never notice the bandits were Shield?" wondered Sam.

"Because they've been recruiting," said Coulson bitterly. "They've only sent new members on Shield raids. They've been biding their time."

"So it isn't just our resources they want," said Natasha. "It's personal." Her heart was beating fast. All this while, the bandits they'd learn to hate for hunting and killing Shield, had turned out to be one of them. She thought she'd left her life of lies behind.

"You fool." It was Pepper, staring daggers at Fury. "You _absolute fool_. You brought this upon all of us. You couldn't just work it out with Pierce—it was your way or nothing. You led him to mutiny. You exiled our friends, and no, do not tell me that's better than death because _they are back_! They want revenge. They've been terrorising Shield for the past few years, killing so many—Hank, Stephen, Sharon, Rhodey, _Pietro_. It's all your fault!" Pepper seemed to be burning with anger, and Fury had the good sense to look somewhat discomfited.

Coulson gave him a piercing look. "I'm going out again, and clearing this all up. Now that we know they're Shield, we can end this feud."

Natasha trailed after Coulson as he strode forcefully towards the gate, the white flag in his hand. He waved at Hill to buzz open the gate. Pierce was still standing on the other side, as if he knew they'd be back.

"Fury told us everything, Pierce," said Coulson, breathing hard. "Put down your weapons, let's talk."

"It's too late for that," drawled Pierce, and fast as a snake, he drew his gun and shot Coulson in the chest.

.

.

How could she ever describe the carnage that followed?

Before Hill could force the gate shut, a dozen bandits streamed inside. They fired indiscriminately, and caught unaware, Shield members fell. Natasha and others retreated to dining hall, and shot back. The infiltrators were soon outnumbered, but the damage was already done. Coulson was gone, trampled underfoot in the chaos. Natasha spotted Darcy's body under the great oak tree. They dragged the injured inside, and Banner set to work immediately. It was too late for Quill, who had taken three bullets to the stomach.

Fury stared open-mouthed at the bodies, the cost of his lies. He sat down heavily next to Coulson. No one spoke to him.

That was just the beginning. Some didn't make it through the night. The bandits were relentless. The volley of bullets never ceased. They launched rocks and Molotov cocktails over the wall—one burst near Sam and burned half of his face. The bandits increased their nightly infiltration attempts. Natasha barely slept the next couple of days.

James did not leave her side. They fought together, patrolled together. He covered her when she reloaded, she pushed him out of the way of a flying rock the size of his head.

Shield fought back as best as they could. It was hard killing people they'd once eaten with, laughed with. Natasha and James, who had no such allegiance, used their guns without compunction.

It was not enough.

How could she ever describe the fall of their golden friend?

.

.

It was almost dawn and they were finishing up their patrol. The night had passed without incident, so they took a breather. Steve gingerly leaned against the wall. Natasha sat on a tree stump a few feet away, shutting her eyes against the growing rays of the sun. James stood between, eyes tense and watchful as always.

They spotted Stark limping towards them—he'd twisted his ankle the day before—carrying the axe Steve had used to chop firewood, and now used to bash bandit skulls. Steve brightened at his arrival.

"I sharpened it for you," Stark said casually. "I was taking stock of the weapons and I thought might as well. It's not a big deal-"

"Thank you, Tony." Steve smiled.

James made a face. "Get a room, you two."

"Hey, you and Nat make horny eyes at each other every day."

Steve chuckled at the outraged expression on James' face. "Bucky," he said. "You should-"

An explosion cleaved the world apart.

Natasha was thrown back with the force of the blast. Her ears rang with horrible silence, her vision was a blur. She gasped and rose unsteadily to her feet. A hole had been blown in the wall, and where Steve had stood, was a pile of rubble.

"STEVE!" someone yelled.

Natasha was on all fours retching, soot and dust coating the inside of her throat. She looked up, eyes streaming, just in time to take in the scene illuminated in cruel detail by the rising sun: Stark and James frantically digging through the wreckage, and pulling out the body of Steve Rogers, face still lined with the laughter they would never hear again.

.

.

"NO!" Stark's anguished shriek struck her in the gut. "YOU BASTARDS!" He turned to the gaping hole, from which a bandit had just managed to climb through. Stark swung Steve's axe and buried it in the bandit's neck with a shout.

James, who was still cradling Steve's head, had frozen. Natasha uttered a warning cry and shot a bandit behind him. James spun around with a look of murderous rage. Forgetting his gun, he fell upon the bandits, drawing blood with only his fists.

"James! Tony! We need to fall back!" They did not appear to have heard. Natasha was frantic. They would be overwhelmed soon.

"We need to bring Steve inside!" That finally got their attention.

Stark and Natasha carried one end each of the body, with James providing cover. By then, the rest of Shield was already out on the field, and it was under that protective fire that the three of them retreated.

They slowly placed Steve on the tiled floor. Shocked murmurs and gasps echoed around them. Natasha gently drew his eyelids close, her heart in a million pieces. Stark bowed his head and wept.

Outside, something had changed. Shrieks of terror and primal snarls heralded the arrival of another enemy. The zombies were here.

.

.

"James, wait!" But he wrenched himself from her grasp and plunged into the fray without a word, his eyes promising violence. Natasha shouldered her gun, looked at Clint's knife and hesitated—it seemed woefully small in the light of things. Instead, she picked up Steve's axe and sprinted.

Pandemonium reigned. Adrenaline coursed through her blood as she wielded the axe mercilessly. She didn't waste time on the bandits. The zombies were a priority. Ahead of her, James made no such distinction—his gun was a living thing in his hand as he took out bandits and zombies one by one, recklessly leaving himself open for attacks. Natasha knocked a bandit aside and ran to cover him.

The zombies were threatening to overwhelm them. The bandits, recognising this, changed their tactic. And for one shining moment, Shield and the bandits united against the zombies. She thought of Steve when he'd said ' _If we're breathing, we're all on the same side'_.

The illusion shattered. The bandits had been trapped between the horde of zombies on one side and Shield on the other. And while the combined human forces had managed to suppress the zombies, the bandits had taken the brunt of the zombie attack. It all ended when Alexander Pierce was shot.

"That was for Phil Coulson," said Maria Hill.

"You bitch," he snarled. He fumbled for his weapon but before he could shoot Hill, a round of bullets punctured his body. Fury lowered his gun and looked down at his friend with a mixture of disgust and dismay.

The bandits lay down their arms after that. It was all over.

Well, not exactly. The injured had to be separated from the dead, the surrendering bandits had to be confined, the remaining zombies had to be killed. Natasha roamed on the field, breathing hard, her body heavy with battle withdrawal, searching for James.

Wanda was supporting a hurt Scott across the turf. With a start, Natasha noticed that a zombie was behind them, gaining ground. She yelled in warning as she raced, shaking her gun uselessly. She was too far away, and she was out of bullets…

Suddenly James was there. He tackled the zombie and they rolled onto the grass. The zombie was now on top. It snapped its mouth. "JAMES!" Natasha sprinted as fast as she could. _No, no, no, no_. But for once, the gods weren't listening. And the world stopped spinning as James brought up his arm to cover his face and the zombie sunk its teeth into his skin.

.

.

Natasha barely registered the bullets tearing through the zombie's flesh, Pepper dropping her gun and kneeling beside James. The only thing she was aware of was the glistening bite on his lower left arm.

 _No, no, not like this. It was all supposed to be over!_

"How bad is it?" breathed James.

All the colour had leached out of the world. There was only red, the red of his blood.

He craned his neck to see the wound. His head thumped back, despair clouding his features. "Natasha," he said. "Listen to me, I've been bitten. You know what you have to do."

Something snapped inside her. Pain, like she'd never experienced before, flooded her system. This was pain that would never go away, pain that would undo everything whole about her. The abyss opened up beneath her feet and she stared at it with unseeing eyes.

"No," she whispered. "But I just found you." Her voice cracked.

"Natasha. You have to let go." He grimaced as his arm twitched. "You _promised_."

She was weak, a coward. _Hypocrite_. She wished she'd never met James. She wished she didn't know him so intimately. She wished he were anyone else so she could just pick up the gun and forestall the horrible fate that lay before him.

Tears streamed down Pepper's face. "Let me call Banner."

"It doesn't matter," said James sharply. "Natasha, you have to shoot me."

"I can't. _I can't_."

Natasha raged against the unfairness of it all. Anger flowed through her like fire, turning to ash everything he had mended inside her. If she went through with this, it would hollow her out. She was absolutely sure of that. There would be no life for her after this.

"I'm begging you, Natasha." His eyes shone with tears. "Do not let me turn."

There was no other choice.

She raised the axe. Her hands trembled violently. "Give me a moment." She gulped breaths of fresh air, her mind in shambles. No, no, no. But there was point in delaying.

She knew what she had to do.

"I love you," she told him.

James shut his eyes.

Sunlight glinted silver on the blade as Natasha brought down the axe on him.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Bruce Banner washed his hands off blood for what felt like the umpteenth time. It had been days since Pierce had died—the remaining bandits had been locked up, the dead had been buried, the wall patched, but the injured still needed looking after. Bruce exited the room to find a figure curled up on a chair in direct view of the door.

Natasha sprang up. Her face was gaunt and her body stiff from spending her lonely, unbroken vigil outside his clinic, but her eyes were pure steel as she demanded, "Well?"

"He's stable. Finally stopped bleeding."

She stumbled, relief crashing into her like a wave. Bruce was beside her instantly, gently steering her into his room. Towards the cot where James lay.

He was awake. Natasha's eyes went straight to his face instead of the empty space where his left arm had been.

"You made it," she said softly, as if she hadn't believed it until now, as if she'd chopped his arm off on nothing but the tiniest shred of faith.

"And the infection…?"

"Nothing. It didn't get time to spread," replied Banner. "The axe was pretty efficient." The scene was permanently etched in his mind: running across the field, followed by Pepper, seeing James passed out in a pool of blood, assuming the worst until Natasha had whirled around, eyes like a wild beast, and told him she'd axed his arm off to save him. And it had actually worked.

The look on James' face was nothing short of awe. "You mad, mad woman."

"I know I promised," she said intently. "But I couldn't let you go. I was too selfish."

"Well, I'm not complaining." He grinned faintly.

Bruce left to give them space. Outside, Fury was pacing the corridor. Tony and Pepper, who'd arrived just then, gave him matching glares.

"James is fine," he said, before anyone could ask. "He'll live."

"Thank god." Pepper clutched her throat.

"He's not going to turn?" asked Fury.

"No, if he was going to, he would have already," said Bruce testily. "The infection's gone."

"Good." Fury nodded. Then: "We need to discuss Natasha breaking the rule."

"Are you fucking serious?" Stark whipped around.

"She saved him!" said Pepper. "He's okay now."

"That does not change the fact that Natasha failed to kill someone who was bitten," barked Fury. "There's no guarantee that chopping someone's hand off is going to work next time. We can't take that risk."

Pepper spluttered, her strawberry blonde hair flying. "After the whole Pierce thing, the bandits, you still want to stick to your goddamn rules at the cost of everything else? After everything Natasha and James have been through you want to exile them?"

"Nick, at least put it to a vote," said Banner.

"There is no need." Natasha appeared on the doorway. James stood beside her, his face wan but clear, his left sleeve tied into a knot. "We're leaving."

"What?"

"James and I are leaving Shield. It's something we've been thinking about for a while now."

For a moment, Fury looked taken aback. He scanned them, considering. Natasha returned his stare, complicated emotions swirling between them. Bruce knew that it was Fury who had found Natasha, probably saved her life, brought her back to Shield. In return, Natasha had given everything to Shield, she had been one of its most invaluable members. And now, just like that, she would be gone forever.

Bruce expected Fury to change his mind, to convince Natasha to stay. "That settles it then." And he turned on his feet, and left, his long coat swishing behind him.

"You don't have to, Nat," pleaded Pepper. "Fuck Fury and his rules."

Natasha and James glanced at each other for a split second, sharing a look only they could understand.

"It's not only about Fury," she said at the same time he said, "We _want_ to."

"But how- how will you make it? On your own?"

"Oh, I think they'll be fine." Stark shuffled forward. Grief had shrunken him but a spark of his old self still remained when he said, "Oops, I dropped these." And Natasha smiled as he carefully placed the keys to the red pick-up truck into her palm.

A large crowd gathered to see them off next morning. Fury was noticeable in his absence, but Hill was there. "You know this means you can never come back." She sounded genuinely sorry.

"I'll miss you," Wanda cried. Natasha hugged her.

Sam, face covered in bandages, clapped James on the back. "Kick some zombie ass for us."

Bruce felt a warm presence by his side. Pepper smiled weakly. "It feels like the end of something." He nodded, though he wasn't sure why. As Bruce watched Natasha and James saying their goodbyes, shouldering their bags, and preparing to take their chances on the uncertain world outside, he felt strangely envious. They had each other, he supposed, and that's all that mattered.

They walked out the gates, the sun painting their backs in hues of orange and pink, their shadows stretching ahead of them, as if eager for all that was yet to come.

* * *

 **The end.**

 **This was a wild ride for me. Do comment if you enjoyed reading it. Do comment if you didn't :P I'd love your feedback!**


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